Her and Him
by A Carnival Of Idiots On Show
Summary: He was a mercy-killer. She was a murderer. Both held blood on the very pores of their fingertips. And yet, the first time they ever really touched was through the screen of their televisions. FAX!
1. Mercy, Mercy

**So, yesssss! I'm back! And...I'm posting a chapter for Imaginary tomorrow For now...enjoy my awesome mcnugget-ly cool bacon-ish story of barbecue sauce. I WILL CONTINUE THIS STORY. BECAUSE I LIKE IT SO...there. ENJOY MY RIPE WATERMALONES!**

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_**Her P.O.V**_

She held the pointed object proudly in the air. The handle twirled with mastery in her fingertips. Sighing, she ran the tip over her protruding thumb, dragging the scarlet line across the length of her palm. The knife was coated in dry blood.

"Max, Max, Max." She muttered, glancing at the thick ooze drooling from her hands. It dribbled with ease, permanently set into a thin line. A humorless laugh seeped from her teeth, fading away as she let her eyelids shut. A blanket of darkness coated her pupils.

"We've got a guilty, filthy, soul." Muttering a string of incoherent phrases, she twirled the string of her hoodie. The metal zipper on her jacket hung loosely, waltzing with gravity. A tear slipped out from the corner of her eyes.

Sociopath, they had labeled her. A heartless killer. She wasn't really, though. It wasn't just some hobby, some pointless game. It was revenge. For the people who had pushed her, stabbed her in the back. She just...broke. No one was there to pick up her pieces.

Her shoulder rattled violently. No one would ever understand. Twiddling with the sleeve of her jacket, she cuffed the material. The cotton rode up her arm. Simple. Her life was simple. She was normal. An average teenage girl.

The smell of death and rotting flesh wafting through the household didn't convince her much, however.

X.0

_**His P.O.V**_

He fumbled with the tube, twisting the clear object between his index finger and thumb. A sudden urge to yank the oxygen from the girl arose in his nerves, electrifying the pads of his fingers with an unpleasant horror. He jerked back.

"What's wrong with me?" He whispered, pinching the skin on his wrist. Red surfaced. With a sudden grunt, he swiped the blood away with the edge of his tee. Sniffling the snot that threatened to droop from his nose, he shut his eyes tightly.

He was a murderer. A sinner. The very pores of his fingertips were blanketed in a thick coating of crimson. Without warning, he felt his tear ducts water involuntarily. This girl was so weak. She was suffering so greatly. He wasn't a sociopath. He was merely a mercy-killer.

Pain coursed through his veins, the blue strips under his eyes twitching slightly. The girl before him struggled, her palms waving frantically back and forth. He kept his eyes shut, pressuring the pillow further. All movement ceased.

The patient was dead.

X.0

_**Her P.O.V**_

Lights flashed through the sky, eliciting the city with a quaint thunderstorm. She grinned at the flashes, white pouring through the clouds like black ink in a glass of water. The pistol settled comfortably in her side. It felt almost normal. As if she were but wearing a necklace around her throat.

The round form of her eyes morphed into narrow slits. Squinting, the pads of her boots thumped silently against cracked pavement of the sidewalks. So close, her mind whispered. Yet so very far away.

She hummed until the man was but a few feet away. An arm's length at most. Her pistol seared with satisfaction, rubbing the tip of her fingers against the barrel. The man didn't notice. He was too busy, apparently caught up in some business call. Here they stood, at the bus stop.

"Dylan..." She whispered, catching the attention of the male. He tilted his head, craning his neck in just the perfect position. Eyebrows knitted together, his eyes took on a confused appearance, pausing the man on the phone. The vein across his neck pulsed ever so calmly.

Blood seeped from his mouth, spilling from the gaps between his misshapen teeth. With a despicable attempt for air, he struggled for oxygen, kneeing across the now stained streets. She had shot him in his stomach.

"Bang." She hissed, spitting on the form below. He looked so pathetic. Useless, she mused. Red coated her pores, overwhelming her with an instantaneous reward of satisfaction. Closing her eyes, she brought her curled thumb up to her lips. Salt. Metal. Guilt.

She walked away from the scene. But not before bashing the man's face in with the spiked tip of her shoes. A good luck charm at it's finest indeed.

X.0

_**His P.O.V**_

"My little Angel." He whispered to the tombstone. His hands trickled down the sides, defining every crevice in the rock. Moss had covered her name. With an overpowering urge to dig up the body beneath, he bit his knuckle. Until he felt thickness. Liquid.

Lifeless tears danced across his face. A blanket of moisture lathered his cheeks, staining the gleaming patches of skin with a tight, constricted feel. He sobbed until he could sob no more. He screamed to the stars until his throat burned with rage.

And, with a sudden bile forming in the midst of his esophagus, he thought of the many children's lives lost. Rotting bodies buried six feet under. Flesh dissipating, fading into bone. All because of him. His merciful soul, his sinful ways. A clash between right and wrong.

He wanted to die.

X.0

"A cancer patient murdered in her sleep. Breaking news..." The monotonous voice droned on from inside the heavy box placed in his bedroom. His fists clenched, grasping harshly onto the bedsheets below. Murder...It was official. He was a killer.

"Idiots." He seethed. They didn't see the girl in such a fragile state. They only saw her lifeless, pale body. That's the only thing they'd ever see. Just a dead body. Death by deprivation of oxygen. Strangulation. Suffocation. The words rolled off the witness's tongues were acid, dripping venomously with lies and the sick want to be seen across the TV.

He swallowed down a bead of vomit. Nauseating reality overpowered the organs inside him. Everything was rattling, shaking as if an random outburst of earthquakes were concurring inside of his body.

Grabbing the pill bottle beside his bed, he flipped the lid open, exposing bright blue capsules hidden inside. He plucked a pill from the container. Pushing the pain reliever against his tongue, he chugged down a glass of water, swallowing the concoction.

"And, shockingly enough, another murder has taken place. One of a much more violent state..." _Violent, huh?_ He angled his head to the screen, blue and red blaring across the glass. Caution tape filled his view. Almost as if he were there, he saw the body. A man, his age, shot in the stomach. Not to mention the bashed skull dripping onto the pavement, filling the cracks with an inappropriate paint.

"Police believe this, yet again, has been the work of Maximum Ride..." Her name was spoken with fear, as if exhibiting pure evil from her cracked lips. People were interviewed. Questions were asked. And a picture was shown.

Her brown eyes stabbed his heart with a improper tug, reeling his attention even closer. Pressing the pause button, he let his dark irises scan the photo, remembering every detail of the young lady's face. Not brown. Chocolate. Not blonde. Golden.

And sudden, Nicholas Martinez didn't feel so alone anymore.

X.0

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**Wasn't just so amazing? I deserve a cupcake. And a Big Mac. Man I'm hungry. SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...R&R what you think about my BRAND NEW FRICKIN' story. I appreciate any type of review (Including flames). So...thanks? It's been awhile since I was last on here. Awkward entities surround the atmosphere...*Yoda slashes your head off* PLOT TWIIIIIIIISSSSTTT! Thank you, yoda.**

**P.S. TO MY ****_TALK_**** READERS...I'm redoing the whole story. As well as ****_Imaginary_****. So deal. (I'm sorry, was that too harsh?)**

**-A Carnival Of Idiots On Show**


	2. Lips of Shame

**Hello, Watermalones. Nice too see you again. And btw...THOR 2 IS THE BEST FRICKIN' MOVIE IN THIS UNIVERSE. I think I'm in love with Marvel. So here I come today, with a new chappy. Enjoy. Oh, and don't forget...Lemon juice stings on paper cuts. Words from the wise. Otherwise known as my sister.**

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_**Her P.O.V.**_

The weather soiled her cotton sweater, collecting fragments of raindrops across the jagged seams and rips. Her mother had made it her for her sixteenth birthday. She thanked her a day later by chopping her body in half, hiding the remains in the garden shed.

The air around encrusted chills across her flesh. Her breath was but a cloud of mist, seeping from her teeth as a thick, white mist. The leaves crunched slightly under her heavy duty footwear. Blood surged through her brain.

"Mother, Mother..." A light cackle escaped the small slit between her parted lips. It echoed through the sky, amplifying the booming of her voice. Her hood shielded her from the public eye, black shades adorning her untrustworthy eyes.

"You had what was coming to you. You knew it all along." They had called her disturbed. A mistake. A simple complication that, unfortunately for them, was never solved. Throughout the years, they had tortured her with their words, acid dripping into the microscopic holes atop her flesh. She had just extracted her revenge, concocting the perfect plan from the mental mind they had created themselves. The Insanity.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, Daddy-dearest." She whispered, stabbing the dying animal in front of her. Blood was juiced from the body. "I'm a murderer. Not a lawyer. Not a surgeon. A killer." The heart of the duck palpated in her hands, thumping against her palms. The beating died. The bird was dead. Grinning, she flung the organ into the lake, satisfied with the morbid 'plop'.

She but took one feather. It shimmered black and gold.

X.0

_**His P.O.V.**_

He ran a shaky hand through his unkempt hair. Closing his eyes, he imagined her face once more. Beneath his eyelids, he dreamed of that girl. She was running through a field of grass, clutching a bouquet of flowers to her chest. A summer dress had clothed her curves, swaying frantically with the wind.

The sky turned black, the wind stilled. He reached for her hand, but she turned away, running. Running from him. He had claws. Fangs were embedded into his gums. And his pupils were but golden slits shining vigorously under the rising attacks of lightning above.

He fiddled with the remote nervously. Involuntarily, a shaky breath was reverberated through his throat, filling the thick air around him. He couldn't bear her face no longer. It bored holes into the cloth of his attire, stabbing him with her beautiful irises.

He moved to switch the power off, hovering his thumb over the red button. He didn't press it. He waited. Till this feeling faded away. It didn't. It stuck, attached to the very tissue of his heart. It hammered a horrid tune, offbeat with the constant breaths escaping from his lips.

Kneeling in front of the TV, he leaned forward. His lips caressed hers, the smiling girl in the picture. He was disturbed. But at the moment, he didn't care.

X.0

_**Her P.O.V.**_

It was a sketch. Of a man. She stared at the poster, glancing over the bold label across the length of the slip. Wanted. She smiled sadistically. Leftover blood from her recent killing spreaded across the gleaming white material. It contrasted heavily against the lettering.

"They call him Fang. A mercy-killer, huh?" Her pupils skimmed the text, reading but every row of words that came before her line of view. According to the paragraph before her, he had murdered over 100 patients. All children.

She parted her lips slightly, sucking in the cold air around her. It slapped her lungs like a slimy fish coated with oil. "Pathetic." She whispered. Flipping the slip over, she peered at the man's picture. He was handsome, of course. But nothing like her. She was a monster. He was but a samaritan.

Black hair hung loosely across his forehead, covering his dark eyes partially. Squinting, she balled the paper in her fists. The sheet ripped with a screech, floating through the air as she pummeled the broken pieces into the streets.

She moved to walk away. Her feet wouldn't move. Traitors, they were. With a sudden trail of tears slipping down her face, she screamed, pushing herself against the damp road. Her arms elongated, collecting the yellow pieces that failed to approach her. They blew with the wind.

Only one piece laid folded in her hands. It was his face. His lips, actually. A drop ran down her chin, trickling down her neck at an agonizing pace. It dripped onto the paper, spreading over his eyes. The mystery man's eyes.

She leaned forward, crushing her mouth to the sheet. His paper lips. It tasted of loneliness. Guilt. Misery. She never felt so alone.

X.0

_**His P.O.V**_

Shame coated his fingertips. Along with red. It was everywhere. His eyes widened, pupils dilating at the scene. A bouquet of roses was at the foot of her bed, white and innocent. Crimson coated the petals, staining the gift with impurity.

His eyes glazed over the body. A scalpel laid in his right hand, smothered with her blood. The patient was a female. A teenager, he could tell. She had been in a car accident, living off of the oxygen provided to her by a machine. Her heart had been penetrated by his weapon, carmine substances spurting frantically from her body. Her heart monitor flatlined.

Stuffing the scalpel in his pocket, he opened the window near her bed. He exited the scene. Red and blue flashed in front of the hospital within seconds of his departure.

X.0

_**His and Her P.O.V**_

He felt her heartbeat. The organ thrummed against her throat. She felt his pulse. The pulse across the strip of skin on his neck. Each saw the demons. Crawling in their irises, taking control of their dilated pupils. It infected each with sorrow, hopelessness.

With a sudden jolt, they clung to each other. She buried her tears into his chest. He sobbed against her hair, matting the strands against her scalp. The water flowed. And neither moved. They felt whole. They felt wanted. Needed.

And the dream was over. It had ended. But love. They felt love. For a single time in their lives.

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**Angsty. Angsty. Angsty. But...hey...FAX? HAHAHAHA. You will now type a comment in the review section and press enter. Or else the foot phantom will get you in your sleep. Yeah...the FOOT phantom. DO YOU TREASURE YOUR TOES, HUH? Well then R&R and you got nothing to worry about...Hehehehe.**

**-A Carnival of Idiots on Show**


	3. Growing Affection

**Hellooooooo Watermalones! Nice to see you again. So, there have been quite a few questions and I am her to answer them. Soooooooo...YES THERE WILL BE OTHERS. I JUST NEED TO INCORPORATE THEM INTO THE PLOT. And the last paragraph of the story last chap (Her and His P.O.V.) That was a dream. So they were like...touching...through a dream. Soooooo...yeah. Enjoy this amazing chappy my ripe fruits! **

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_**His P.O.V.**_

"Help me..." The woman's cup was empty, no change evident in the paper object. Nothing but a crumb, staring at him with such intensity. He stopped. The lady turned to him, not expecting for the man to actually listen to her pleas of help. The pavement was cold on the lady's toes. It burned her feet, morphing the flesh atop her heels a sickly purple.

"Sir...Please.." Her voice was hoarse, crackling slightly near the end of her cry. He peered over his shoulder, brushing his chin against the fabric of his trench coat. His fingers throbbed against his dark gloves. The want to end her suffering. The need. He withdrew the gloves from his hands, feeling the wind nibble on his palms.

"T-thank you, sir." He strode towards her, stepping careful on the gray, cement squares. She thought he was helping her, giving in to her pleading requests. No. No, he wasn't even. He was stretching his fingers, savoring the warmth of her neck across his hands.

She screamed, muffled by the glove stretched around her head. Tears ripped from her eyes, dancing across her cheeks. Soil from the swipes of muck across her face collected in the drops. Tightening his grip around her neck, he felt her beg for oxygen. He swallowed down a thick glob of spit encased in the pit of his esophagus.

"There, there." He cooed. Her resistance against the placement of his hands ceased. Squatting, he peeled back an eyelid, viewing the iris of the woman. Dead. No movement. No life. The violet color paled, shivers being received from the very bottom of his spine.

"It's going to be fine. Everything's okay." He whispered into the homeless lady's hair, tasting dirt across his lips. He didn't know if he was trying to convince the dead woman...or his own sanity.

X.0

_**Her P.O.V.**_

She growled, spitting at the screen of the computer. The monitor continued to replay the report. Growling, she flung the item across the room. The glass smashed against the white walls, a spark of electricity igniting before clashing against the wooden panels of the floor. There was but lies scribbled against the mouths of the news reporters.

They had said the man was a sociopath. They had called him the same nickname used for her crimes. A murderer. A monster. But he wasn't. Deep inside of her skin, she knew the poisonous guilt that overrided his bloodstream. She felt what he felt. She...knew.

And so, the vision from last night's dream filled her mind. His tears dripping into her hair. His hands, clutching dearly onto her waist, forcing her to bury her sobbing form against him. She had learned love. And somehow, she had managed to grow a deep affection for a male whom she never met. Only seen. Only heard about. It was but an imaginary fantasy. For someone to hold her near, whispering meaningful phrases against her lips. Alas, it couldn't be true.

She fumbled with a piece of glass on the floor, running her fingers across the length of the shard. It sliced her skin, blood leaking along the glands of her fingertips. Wincing, she viewed the wound, examining the vermillion that dipped down her palms. No one would ever love her. No one.

She sobbed, bringing the pointed danger to her face, slicing the cheeks where her tears hand landed upon. Crimson mixed with the clear substance, taking on a pinkish shade. Screaming, she buried her hands into her face, cursing the bane existence of her looming self.

"I want to die." She whispered. And so, her eyes lulled to the back of her head.

X.0

_**His P.O.V.**_

They rushed the patient into the room. Red and blue flashed throughout the cloudy skies, the colors combining to create a dark shade of violet. He waited outside the window, squinting. The patient was female, he could obviously tell. Tufts of blonde hair hung out of the white sheet that covered her body. Blood matted the material to the girl, dripping off the bed that was rushed into the room. The wheels squeaked. The material was peeled away.

His throat constricted, choking him involuntarily. Heart pounding through his chest, his skin pulsed against his jugular. He shouted at the window, pounding the curtained glass square with the tips of his knuckles. It couldn't be. It wasn't.

He looked back at the female. Her eyes were hazy, brown searching the room in a frantic pace. The doctors inspected her face, prodding the slashes across her face with a tool laid on a metal table next to the surgery platter. They widened the gash, plucking an object from the girl. A pointed shard of glass. She had tried to kill herself.

"No. No!" He screamed. Vermillion gushed from her soft cheeks, an unfitting color against the pale blanket of her skin. He grabbed a rock from the soil beneath him, smashing the stone against the sealed cube that blocked him from her. It but cracked slightly.

He was forced to watch the scene unfold before him. Crying out, he sobbed into his cold palms, feeling the iciness of his fingernails scrape the underside of his eyes. She was suffering. He wanted to old her, to whisper against her bloodied cheeks. To wipe the pink tears shed across her flesh.

He ran into the hospital.

X.0

_**Her P.O.V.**_

She squinted under the blurry white of the lights above her. Doctors with masks. Gloves. Shouting. Her eyes were crusted, blinking away the lash that threatened to stab her eyeball. With a sudden wave of panic pulling over her, she sat up from the bed. The doctors but stared at her bloody self, pushing her forcefully against the stained sheets. She screamed, squirming under the needles that sewed her opened flesh. In and out they went, the thin rod stabbing her sides, closing her bloody wounds.

The thread was running through her skin, throbbing the area in which the doctors stabbed her with the utensil. And they stopped. Everything stopped. The doctors waved their hands around, an oblivious feel of distraughtness closing in on the inhabitants of the room.

She felt herself lose control of her body once again.

X.0

_**Her and His P.O.V.**_

She was few feet in front of him, an arm's length. It was as if the universe was teasing him, hanging a most decadent piece of cheese in front of a famished mouse. Gulping, he elongated his hand, feeling the air that surrounded her limp frame. He tapped her shoulder, indenting a white mark in her fragile skin. Scars ran across her cheeks and wrists, discoloring the beauty that was held captive across her flawless self.

Her nose had twitched. Jerking back from the girl, his eyes but widened at the thought of her waking up, hugging him. He wanted to kiss her. Her eyelids twitched abruptly, tugging his face closer to hers. She was waking up. He was but a few centimeters away from her. Her lips.

Coughing, her eyes had fluttered, exposing the brown irises buried beneath. Blurry, blurry, blurry...then him. She had grown a quant blush across her cheeks, the close proximity proving to be quite uncomfortable for her regaining conscious.

"I realize this is sudden, but seeing you up close, I really have the need to kiss you right now." This was the man. From her dreams. The one whom she had grown a longing want for. Without an answer, a meek response at least, he dove in, connecting her lips to his.

The puzzle was completed. Their lips molded perfectly against each other, a slow rhythm adorning the romantic gesture. Both her and him refused to tear apart, afraid they'd never get the chance. The single moment.

He could sense her palpating heart under the wrists in which he had so carefully reached for, lacing his fingers through her shaky palms. None of them questioned if this was wrong, if this was right. No words tumbled from their tongues. Only the passionate exhibition of their growing affection was shown through the soft and steady movements of each others mouths.

"You're the man," She whispered against his lips. "The man from my dreams."

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**FAXNESSS OVERLOAAAAAAD! Man, I'm happy. Are you happy (Whoever you are?). Fax, fax, fax...AND ONLY THE 3RD CHAPTER. This, right here, is a story based purely on romance. With horror, hence the killings and yada yada yada. Ill introduce new characters next chap and see how you like the plot still.R&R Pleaseeeeee. Come on! I Gave you FAX! What more could you ask for?!**

(A/N The Royal Concept- On our way

Passion Pit- Take a walk

CAGE THE ELEPHANT, GROUPLOVE, ANYBODY?!)

**-Carnival of Idiots on Show**


	4. He Gave Her A Rose

_**Iggy P.O.V.**_

There she stood, but a few feet in front of the sidewalk square he was currently taking a liking too. Through the rubber tips of his shoes, he could feel the pavement slap his toes with a obscure numbness. With a tap of a finger..._No,_ he told himself. _You're a nobody. A maniac._

His tongue peeked from his mouth, lapping at the drool dripping out of his mouth. Sniffling, he looked to the girl swaying beautifully in front of him. His pupils flicked to the male, anger arising in his system. He was touching her. Caressing her hands with his. _That should be me. She loves me!_

"Sam Batchelder." He hissed, spit flying from the spaces between his teeth. As if on command, he felt a certain substance form in the ducts of his eyes. It was tears. She didn't love him. He felt like a fool. His thumbs fiddled with the tie drooping into his tuxedo. He even got her a flower. It was a rose, all the thorns plucked from the bristly stem. He knew she didn't like them.

With a cry of savagery, he threw the rose on the ground. Wiping his forehead with the back of his knuckle, he grabbed the lighter. They had called him a freak. A pyro. His grin was malicious across his mouth. The rose burned in his palms, withering. It morphed into a pile of ash. Grimy. Black. He wanted more.

With a flick of the switch, the sparks ignited. They saw a boring, flame. He saw his only friend, dancing in the bitter breeze of the winter night, weeping silently at his side. Smiling, he placed a chaste kiss on the side of the lighter, avoiding the heat of the fire.

"Bastards." Pouring oil along the length of the wretched building, he inhaled, whiffing the deliciously scented air. It was as if the oxygen around him was clouded with the scent, hugging his nostrils, a tender embrace.

A maniacal laugh rose in the midst of his esophagus. It reverberated through the sky, thunder streaming through the clouds above. They stared. They jiggled the locked doors. It was no use. He had them isolated like a prisoner in a cell.

"Iggy! Don't do it! Please!" It was Ella. Her hands molded against the glass, pressing her fingertips along the clear material. He but grinned even wider. It wasn't him. He would've unlocked the doors and tore the frail lady out. It was the beast. The crazy inside.

"You never loved me." It was true. She didn't. The lit match flew through the air, a line of red and orange running across the edges of the building. The Beast smiled, golden reflecting off of his pale, blue irises.

They screamed. Under the blanket of heat, their bodies burned, melting into a mass of flesh and blood. He heard her scream. The scream that ended it all. Ella's body was covered in black. Her body was crisp, crunching as Sam toppled on top of her. He was satisfied.

"I hate prom."

X.0

_**His P.O.V.**_

He squinted against the bright hospital light above him. Maximum was asleep, her eyes shut tightly. With her pink, puffy scars running down her cheeks, he thought she was crying. Pulling his hand away violently, he realized it was just the pain she had inflicted upon herself.

"You're still beautiful." He whispered against her cheeks, pressing light kisses along the scar that ran down her jawline. It tingled viciously under his touch, sending minuscule bumps alongside the very pit of his spine. She twitched.

"Wake up." The bed shook slightly, creaking under the weight of the wooden panels below. With slow, gentle movements, he pressured the back of his left palm of her shoulder, rocking her resting body back and forth. He hummed quietly, a simple tune vibrating the roof of his mouth.

"Hnnrgh..." She groaned, her pale eyelids fluttering open. With a small gasp, she jerked away from him, glancing around the room in panic. He couldn't help but admire the way her eyes shone under something as feeble as a fluorescent light. She seemed frightened, her view switching from object to object around the room. Her pupils dilated slightly, flicking the two black dots to his awaiting self.

"Oh...you." Her breath smelled that of blood, metallic as he whaffed the faint smell. His palm was currently grasping her right hand, drawing small circles into her flesh. She wanted to pull away, to rip her hand from his. But as he laced their fingers, she couldn't help but tighten the grip of their hold.

"Fang. My name is Fang." He muttered, licking the dry crack on the corner of his mouth. She stared at him, contemplating the name, how it flowed off of his tongue. Whispering the name, she noticed the comparison in elegance as she spoke.

"I'm Maximum. Maximum Ride...You probably already know that, though." Her embarrassment had only grown worse near the end of her sentence, a slight flush growing atop the skin of her cheeks. A series of news reports flashed through her mind, causing a shudder to course through her. Lies. Greed. They were but covering the truth with a blanket of money, exposing her as a satanic being. She was, however, a Christian. Just one with many sins.

"You can't listen to what they say...I wouldn't have kissed you if I thought you were a monster." Before he could take back what he said, the flush on her cheeks had only worsened, a deep shade of crimson. He thought of a more bloody-color, as if she was sweating the substance through her pores.

"I'm sorry if I was a bit...forceful yesterday." He stared at her fragile hands, afraid that with one swift shake of his own, he would crush the bones within. It was almost impossible to assume that these were the very killing devices used to murderer all those people. They were so soft, so smooth. She laughed.

"Can I...um, touch your hair? I don't know. It just looks so shiny under the lights." His head cocked to the side. Closing his eyes, he leaned in closer, nodding slightly. For a moment, he missed the warmth of her palms. Feeling her fingers stroke the strands of his hair, though, proved to be much more comforting.

She brushed her fingers through his scalp, letting her nails trickle across his raven-colored hair. It reminded her of the night, in which all her killings took place. Pushing that disturbing thought aside, she continued stroking his ruffled sidebangs, letting a clump fall into his eyes.

"I want to kiss you again." He admitted, opening his charcoal irises once more. His breath tickled her face, warming the scars than ran down her jaw.

"Then...what are you waiting for?"

* * *

**I really don't know about this chap...BUT HEY! IGGYYYYYY! THE PYROMANIAC EVERYONE LOVES. Here, however, hes EEEEVVVVIIIILLLL. Hah. Yeahhh. Anyways...R&R! Please! Sooooo...PEACE, WATERMALONES! RUNNING OUT OF FUCKING BATTERY! WHERES MY FRICKIN CHARGERRRRRRRRRRR! FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!**

**-A Carnival Of Idiots On Show**


	5. She Lent Him Her Tears

Nudge P.O.V.

The scale creaked under her feet. Her mom had managed to sleep soundly, snoring slightly after a long day at work. Her dear Father, however, was typing away in the living room, the clicks of the keys against his coarse thumbs drifting through the household. Nobody noticed.

"Not good enough." She muttered. Her toes curled, searching the device below here for some sort of malfunction. A glitch. Alas, there was none. It was true. The black lines across the screen paused. He breath had caught in the midst of her throat, struggling to let out that one cry.

The red line mocked her. It laughed at her. She couldn't bear the torture, the giggles and squeals of the machinery. Curling her fists into a tight ball, she felt her feet slide off the porcelain material. A tear slipped from her eyes. Her pupils dilated, covering her quivering lips with her balled knuckle.

"So fat. So ugly." Her fingers pinched the flesh among the area of her abdomen. It drooped in her fingers. At least, that's what she saw. A savage beast, a creature too hideous to be seen by the naked eye. Her nails trickled over the marks across her stomach. She wanted to be skinny. She needed to be thin.

_They pushed her against the lockers. She screamed. They cackled. "Fat bitch!" They chorused, pounding against her stomach. The tears stung her pores, dripping onto her bleeding belly button. They left her alone. Blood spilled along the tiles of the floors. No one heard he pleas._

"Help me." She whispered to her sleeping mother. Her typing father.

They wouldn't listen.

0.X

Her and His P.O.V.

"T-thanksgiving?" She whispered. The slight winter breeze had left her quite cold, shivering under the blanket draped across her shoulders. He stood next to her. His pupils searched hers intently, viewing the confusion trickled along her facial pores. She didn't know.

"It's a holiday. To celebrate family." He ran a hand through his hair. Sniffling, she dug her petite head further into his chest, wrinkling the cotton shirt. He, of course, didn't mind. "There's food. Lots of it."

This confused her. Her family never celebrated this holiday, and yet, here stands him who seems to recall every detail of the festival.

"What kinds of food?" Her voice was light, slightly trembling as the words were spoken. He continued to stare at the city lights. A lantern in front of them flickered continuously, the yellow glow growing dimmer each breath they managed to exhale.

"Turkey." He smiled, shifting his body. His forehead now resting on the depths of her scalp, he wafted the scent of her hair. It smelled too of blood. The smell, however, didn't budge him. It just reminded him how they were that much closer. They both held blood in the very pit of their hearts. Their sins. It was like glue, colored glue, holding them together. "Cornbread. Ham. Food like that."

"My family never celebrated it." From a diminutive glance, there was nothing to tell. Although, from where he was standing, and at the such close proximity that was shown between the two, he could sense the pain lacing her words. It was a hidden meaning. A masked statement, hiding her true intentions. He could see it all.

"Come on." He grasped her hand, folding his fingers against hers. Their cold palms aligned. She hesitated for a moment, but nodded silently, trailing behind his padding feet. The pavement was covered in frost, patches of ice spread unevenly across the gray flooring that spread throughout the town.

"Where are we going?" With a gulp, she swallowed down the ever agonizing glob of saliva. It formed yet again in her throat, blocking the careful words she wanted to say. None escaped from her quivering lips.

Nothing but mute grunts or mutters.

He turned around abruptly, ripping his hand from hers softly. He chuckled, a cloud of mist leaving his tongue. She cocked her head. Just almost. Her curiosity was almost palpable, and with those noticeable body movements, he could view the perplexity of his request waltzing with the oxygen molecules above.

"We're going to celebrate Thanksgiving. Together."

X.0

The dishes clattered against each other, clinking with an irritating 'plink'. She winced at the sound. It was as if she reverted back to her younger years. The day she had murdered her parents. Shuddering under the horrid memory, she shattered that thought, returning back to the living room of his house.

"Microwave. Definitely the best invention." She smiled. They had stopped at a nearby market. He insisted to pick the food she'd like to eat, ushering her to choose the food items she desired most. Unable to hold him responsible for the cooking of all that food, she decided on something simple. A microwavable cuisine.

"I didn't want you to cook all that food alone." The ham sizzled, the timer ending promptly with loud series of beeps. Just as it had said on the box. With a few minor troubles, he had managed to get the steaming object away from the machine. Only but a few burns collected against his flesh.

A satisfied grin showed upon his mouth. Culinary objects ranging from cornbreads to mashed potatoes filled the plastic table, not even a centimeter of the black tablecloth visible through all the colored bowls.

"This is Thanksgiving, huh?" She laughed, plopping a bit of the stuffing on her cherry red plate. He didn't bother taking any food, gauging her reaction as she spooned a mouthful of the substance. With just that bite, she moaned abruptly, chowing down on the various cuisines before her. She stopped.

"What? What's wrong?" Her fork dropped from her palms. The smile pasted on her mouth was slowly crumbling, falling onto her lap below. It was as if a certain food brought back a memory. Which it did. The day when she got her sweater. The day that started it all. Her 16th birthday.

She looked down. Too her most utter sadness, across her body, clinging to her stomach and her arms, was the grey fabric. The stitches were still clean, unnoticeable. He stood there, squinting, trying to piece together exactly what was happening. It was much more complex than what the human brain could explain. She just...cracked.

A tear slipped from her eye. "Do you know where I got this...sweater?" She whispered to him, a drop mixing into the mashed potatoes. His confusion only worsened as she tugged on a loose string of her clothing. He shook his head.

"It was a gift. From my parents. They gave it to me on my 16th birthday." Water flowed from her irises, seeping through her pores. Her own personal river wouldn't cease. Getting up from his chair, he struggled to kneel beside her. She felt his hands crawl up her back, resting his chin on her head like before. He was hugging her. "I killed them. I killed them with a butcher knife."

She sobbed into his chest, shaking with each quaint breath that rolled from her teeth. Her words hit his ears like a car collision, stabbing his very ear drums with the truth that rolled off of her tongue. She was a monster. He was a maniac. They clung to each other, him whispering sweet promises into her ears. "It's going to be okay. I'm here. I'm here." There was a knock on the window before them. A hooded man appeared, flicking his hands violently over an empty lighter case.

"I don't mean to interrupt your pity party. But can I perhaps borrow a match?"

* * *

**IGGY! Anyways, Happy Turkey Day (For those who celebrate it!) If not...Happy Thursday! Too bad it isn't Wednesday...HUMP DAY! Hehehe...Soooooo, Nudge was introduced. Whaddya think? Good? Amazing? Beautiful? Tear-worthy? That reminds me...This may not be my Imaginary viewers/readers/whatevers...But thanks to all who have supported me in this harsh time. Again, if no one knows what I'm talking about, ignore it. But if you do, and you pm'ed me about it (etc.) THANK YOU! And I hope that you'll enjoy this story! THIS CHAPTER TOOK ME FOREVER! Well...not really. And I'm not happy about it...Either...ehh. But *SPOILER NOT REALLY WELL KINDA* this is also a slight Niggy (Nudge + Iggy). So there. Because I killed off Ella soooo...Sorry Eggy fans? Hehe? Anywaysssss...THANK YA! Peace!**

**Sincerely**

**Well not sincerely**

**Maybe**

**Possibly**

**A Carnival Of Idiots On Show.**


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